


That Fire of Fire

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Bittersweet, F/F, Missing Scene, Short, it's kind of tht and kind of a dialogue interpretation, let them be in love!, sort of!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: "So you don't remember anything?" Maria asked, the husk of her voice seemingly losing its fill. Though her head was high, her jaw steady, something was draining from her eyes, replaced by a cousin of dread.





	That Fire of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i finally saw captain marvel this afternoon and had this idea mid-movie so naturally i started writing it as soon as i got home fksjd
> 
> it's kind of rushed and kind of short bc i just got so excited and wanted to Get It Down but id definitely love to do some more for these two in the future !!
> 
> finally, i took a bit of liberty w the exact dialogue and movements, but this is based around the scene of maria and carol sitting in the kitchen after they first get to maria's
> 
> oh and the title is from edgar allen poe's tamerlane, the full line of which reads "you call it hope - that fire of fire, it is but agony of desire"

"So you don't remember anything?" Maria asked, the husk of her voice seemingly losing its fill. Though her head was high, her jaw steady, something was draining from her eyes, replaced by a cousin of dread.

"I get snippets," Vers said, her face pinching with a concern that grappled every inch of her muscle memory. Her thumb twitched, itching to smooth the wrinkle in Maria's forehead. She stopped herself, though, and forced herself to think of quelling and placation and all the other things she'd used to douse her fire for six years. "But I can't tell what's real." 

She stopped herself from adding, _or what's wishful thinking._

There had been a moment, outside the bar, when she'd gotten the first glimpse. Unbidden, it had resurfaced, crashing through her ribs until she felt like she was sucking water into her lungs.

*

_It was dark, well into the night by then with the stars gaping down at them as if to prove the point even further. They had stumbled out of the bar together, not out of drunkenness, but in the midst of thick laughter and okay, the slightest of buzzes._

_Hands locked between them, they swung them ridiculously, still pulling a string's length of lyrics along behind them like a kid with a little red wagon. They were whatever they could get queued up onto that old jukebox and so much more, two opposite voices splicing together for Bon Jovi and Duran Duran and duet after duet filled with a familiar, unseen to the naked eye tension._

_They sang high and true, determined to continue the party for as long as possible, until Carol pulled a face at a note she'd missed, sending Maria off in a rush of puffing breath that hiccuped between her chest and mouth._

_Maria's laugh lit up her face, eyes half shut and lips pulled wide and a glimmer to her very being. She was glowing in the moonlight, bathed in contentment, and Carol couldn't stop staring._

_Even outside of the memory she could remember that pull, that ache that tugged at her very baseboards, that kept her looking and looking, even if she looked like a fool._

_They took the corner of the building sharply, Carol tugging at Maria's hand with a wordless request - to follow and to lead and to ask to be given to._

_The moment they were out of sight, the moment they were at the very edge of the glow that the neon sign cast, they were backed against the brick wall, Maria's hands in her hair and Carol's hands tugging inpossibly at the lapels of a thin jacket._

_Even outside of the memory she could remember the feeling of breath on her face, stuck in between the moments their mouths connected with warmth and fervor all in one._

_They practically melted together, a sense of ease permeating the hunger they managed to convey in half-light and hammering hearts. It was nowhere near the first time they had done that, and though it wouldn't be the last, it was numbered._

_Even outside of the memory she could remember the bassline in her chest, could swear she still felt it all those years later._

*

Vers had blinked and the memory had left her. Her stomach had dipped - out of lingering want and the wish to remember every detail of what being that close to that brilliant woman felt like - but she'd still had things to do at that point, people and places to find and a life to retrace, so she'd had to let it be.

But now she was sitting in front of Maria, the road all signs pointed to, trying to shove the memories of being huddled up in a booth together - of eyes hooked across a bar as bottles were drawn to lips - to the back of her mind because the world was in danger and she had to protect it to protect her.

She was trying to forget the motions of tucking a little girl into bed before going to press chest to back and sleep off whatever the day had brought. Trying to push away chasing that same girl around a sprawling lawn before scooping her up and holding her between them as they kissed her temples while she laughed wildly.

They had been in love, had been a family-

 _No,_ she forced her mind to remind her body. _Carol and Maria were in love, Carol and Maria and Monica were a family. You're Vers, of the Starfleet Command. You're not Carol Danvers anymore._

But a voice at the back of her head, the one that always pushed her forward, always kept her talking, always kept a smirk on her face and an ember for her to bleed dry spoke. A simple, _Not yet._

Because she wasn't Carol right now, there was still so much ahead of her before she could undertake that name again. So much blood and sweat and tears and understanding.

But it wasn't impossible. She could do it- wanted to do it. Was the only one who could stake a claim on that spitfire woman who fell seven times and got up eight, nine, ten.

And sitting at the sturdy wooden table, taking in Maria for the first time in six years, she didn't just want to, she had to. 

Carol had been born to fight. To care and to take action and to _fight_ until gritted teeth busted and blood wept from knuckles and dust settled in her lungs. And something inside her, something in her heart that she'd tried so hard to quiet, was calling out, banging against cage walls, trying so hard to get back to Maria Rambeau.

And she was starting to learn that listening to her heart wasn't always wrong. 

When she pushed out of her seat, when she brushed the back of her hand accidentally-on purpose against that of Maria's, and she heard that shaking inhale, affection and want and love unfurled in her chest.

She had been born to fight, and no matter what it took, as long as she would have her, Carol would never stop fighting to get back to Maria and the love that they had painted across the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @wlwshehulk !!


End file.
